What is the roz and mah today?

The Parsi calendar still retains its significance

 A few days before the muktads (all souls days), Parsi establishments like the Union Press [printers of lagan ni chithis (wedding invitations)], Karani Brothers (prayer book publishers), Kersaasp Kolah [gor keri nu achaar (makers of jaggery and mango pickle)] and K. Wadia (diamond jewellers) would print and distribute the Parsi calendar, always in red, print bold enough for the visually impaired to read, rolled cylindrically (one had to straighten it by putting it under the mattress for one night), to be hung on the wall proudly below Zarthost saheb’s frame. Some calendars were plain vanilla, while others provided details of the salgirehs (birthdays) of popular agiaries and atash behrams; the eight chogadiyas of day and night (12 hours of day and 12 of night sub divided into eight sub periods of propitious timing; classified as excellent, auspicious, favorable, neutral, beneficial, malevolent, inauspicious and inimical). Those were the days, my friend, when children learnt by rote the 30 days and 12 months of the Parsi calendar. (Today, most children ask, “What is a Parsi calendar?”)

The roz nu varas (birthday according to the Parsi calendar) would precede the Gregorian birthday according to a simple formula: divide your age by four; if you are 16, the Parsi birthday will precede your birthday by four days, and if you are 100 by 25 days. If you prayed everyday, you would know the roz and mah easily; if you prayed sometimes, then you could always sneak a sly look at the agiary calendar. Even if you could no longer rattle off all the names, at least you were expected to know the roz and mah of your birthday and those of others in the immediate family. The Parsi birthday, which once upon a time was the only birthday celebrated, has now become a low key dress rehearsal for the “English” birthday, as it has been dubbed. On the Parsi one, you eat sev (vermicelli fried brown and garnished with thinly sliced almonds and raisins) and dahi (plain yoghurt); offer sandalwood and light a divo at the agiary; and maybe have dinner at a restaurant.

Apart from birthdays, practising Zoroastrians still remember certain days of the Parsi calendar with reverence. Meher mah and Meher roz is the day you visit the boon-bestowing popular Aslaji Agiary at Grant Road; if you are not an early bird, you will have to await your turn to worship the holy fire after jostling with stout humdins, some of whom stand transfixed praying for their extended family, while those behind them try hard not to commit the sin of uttering colorful expletives in the agiary. The other parav (when the same Ameshaspand presides over both the roz and mah on a day) is Avan mah né Avan roz. The infallible wish fulfiller, Avan Ardavisur banu is famous for granting legitimate boons (if you really desire something, the universe will conspire to give it to you), and her yasht, the longest in the Khordeh Avesta, if recited with dedication and a clean heart, can be miraculous. Even if you recite it only once, on her parav, but without missing a single year, she is mighty pleased. We know friends who pencil these paravs in their diary, electronic or otherwise, and will just not miss a single year, even if there is a death in the family on that day and whether they are in Paris or Poona.

Most Parsi calendars highlight two other important days — Zamyad roz and Avan mah; Govad roz and Dae mah — on which devout humdins perform baaj prayers on the death anniversary of Dastur Jamshed Kookadaru and a behdin called Homaji. If, like the Catholics, we granted sainthood (on second thoughts, thank God, we don’t), without the slightest doubt the pious Dastur would be the first to be beatified. Panthaky of the Kappawala Agiary for 43 years, his miracles of healing, both physically and spiritually, including alchemically turning a brick into gold to finance the exact deficiency of funds needed for construction of the Anjuman Atash Behram, are legendary. His is a living presence, reverentially worshipped even today.

The behdin, Homaji, was falsely framed in a murder charge of having kicked a pregnant woman and hanged publicly. He was exonerated after his death and, as foretold by him at the gallows, his accuser did not survive Homaji’s uthamna. He is a symbol of the spiritual power of a crucified innocent.

A brilliant solicitor and partner in a law firm of antiquity, now no longer alive, would daily consult the Parsi calendar to know the birthday of every agiary in Bombay and Thana, which he would first visit and worship, reaching office at tea time.

On Adar mah, Adar roz, Parsis would paint an afarganyu on the kitchen tiles near the cooking gas stove and celebrate the fires. On Bahman mah, Bahman roz, they would eat khichdi né koru (yellow rice and pumpkin purée) and children would visit homes like a desi version of Halloween, selling homemade jellies (that was 50 years ago in Navsari). On Fravardin parav, Parsis visit the towers of silence and remember the deceased. On the Kadmi New Year Iranis would place cucumbers and other foodstuff favoured by their dear departed near the dakhmas until some sourpuss in the Bombay Parsi Punchayet banned it (we are told the Iranis are thinking of finding substitutes for the cucumbers to place at the dakhmas). Come Dae mah, the Parsi staff of big and small Parsi establishments, be they banks or public sector companies, have jashans performed. The muktads start on Ashtad roz né Spandarmard mah leading to the five Gatha days when there is no roz and no mah (if you pass to the great beyond during Gatha days, on which day will your masiso (first month after death) and chhamsi (sixth month after death) fall is a riddle you can ask Ervad (Dr) Ramiyar Karanjia, the only sensible learned priest, or continue to survive on the ventilator until Hormazd roz and Fravardin mah, that is the Parsi New Year.

Apart from the Shahenshahi calendar, there also are the Fasli and the Kadmi calendars. Only The Mumbai Samachar publishes daily entries from these calendars, in its daily panchang column.

A typical Parsi household would proudly display the Prophet’s portrait and the Parsi calendar in the living room; these days it remains hidden in the wardrobe, to be stealthily consulted. Unopened cylindrical calendars are being used by children as mock swords. Some of  the Parsi establishments which published them have themselves disappeared. Only this publication reminds its readers about the soon to be forgotten calendar by printing it in one of its issues. A culture or civilization whose calendar is rarely consulted is being badly ravaged by time.

Berjis M. Desai

Matchmaking still works

Matrimonial efforts are among the few constructive activities being pursued by the Bombay Parsi Punchayet these days

In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Ms Bennett spends most of her waking hours in trying to get her five daughters married. No Parsi mother has five daughters, and even if someone did, she may not care less. Marriage is not an aspirational matter for the community. On the contrary, for some it is almost fashionable to be unmarried. To make a provocative and unscientific generalization, Parsi men in the matrimonial market are insipid and unexciting, while their female counterparts are overtly aggressive. The more educated and the more affluent tend to marry interfaith. We seldom distinguish between sons and daughters in matters of inheritance. Women are most certainly not unequal. Pre-marital and extra marital sex is not such a taboo any more. Most women work and there is little economic compulsion to marry. We are not children obsessed, like other communities. Bachelors and spinsters are envied; not looked down upon. All this makes for a deadly cocktail of dramatically falling marriage rates.

If one were to analyze the statistical trends published by this publication, at first blush it may appear that more and more Parsis are marrying interfaith. The number of Parsi marriages is declining at a rapid rate, while the number of interfaith marriages is rising. In 1989, 383 Parsi marriages were listed as versus 62 interfaith. In 2013, only 156 Parsi marriages were listed while the interfaith increased to 98. We are dealing with those Parsis who will not marry interfaith but also find their own kind uninteresting. Most in this category are more steeped in Parsi religion and culture. They just cannot imagine living, on a day-to-day basis, with non-Parsis. They cannot withstand any intercultural shock. Matchmaking comes into play here. These Parsis may not bother going to a restaurant but don’t mind being spoon fed. Matrimonial advertisements and kaajwallis (traditional matchmakers, usually women, who operate by word of mouth) are no longer effective. Mutual friends may arrange a meeting or two, but hardened singles will not vigorously follow up.

The Bombay Parsi Punchayet (BPP), the Zoroastrian Youth for the Next Generation and a few other Parsi organizations arrange mass dating, picnics and social gatherings to create mating opportunities for singles. Most of the organizers not only take the horse to the water but also make it drink. A majority of the candidates are in their mid thirties to mid forties and expectations are not too high. The strike rate may not be great but it is well worth the exercise. If these combined matchmaking activities can result in 50 more marriages every year and about 50 more children, there is hope yet for the community.

Divorcing under Parsi matrimonial laws is not too easy, and woe betide if it is a contested divorce. Again, unscientifically speaking, the rate of divorce in such matched marriages is lower than in love marriages. Cultural homogeneity ensures easier adjustment. The differences are usually trivial (you cannot make bheeda per eedoo like my Mumma). Most of the matched ones come from the middle classes and predominantly from the baugs. Emphasis is more on steady companionship rather than pulsating romance. Familiarity with the B. D. Petit Parsee General Hospital wards scores more brownie points than attending a concert at the National Centre for the Performing Arts. In any event, the matchmakers do not target the “caviar” Parsis but the “masoor-pau” ones; admirers of Rafi and Asha Bhosle rather than Zubin Mehta or Freddie Mercury. This class requires external intervention to goad them into matrimony. Once they tie the knot, however, they are most likely to make a decent try at begetting a child or two.

The BPP can provide them with priority, out-of-turn housing allotment, which is a huge attraction to would-be wedders. Can this result in marriages of convenience, like marrying a US or British citizen to get right of residence? Unlikely, in the present situation.

For those who spurn these matchmaking efforts, here is some stellar advice from that shrewd observer of men and matrimony, Jane Austen herself: “Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”

Of course, Jane Austen herself, like our Dolly from Cusrow Baug, never married.

Berjis M. Desai

NON-PARSI BELIEVERS ARE ON THE RISE

A surprising number of non-Parsis have faith in Zoroastrian prayers

There is this anecdote about a solitary fisherman’s tiny boat being tossed around in stormy waters with the shore nowhere in sight. A few years earlier this fisherman had witnessed, in a similar situation, his Parsi master reciting the Yatha Ahu Vairyo after which the sea suddenly turned benign, thus saving precious lives. However, the only word the fisherman could remember was “Thavario.” 

With great devotion and faith, he started chanting, “Parsi taro Thavario (Parsi, your Thavario).” The miracle is said to have occurred again: the stormy skies cleared and the wind dropped.

In those towns of Gujarat which have an agiary it is commonplace for non-Parsis to hand over sandalwood sticks to Parsis entering the fire temple and requesting them to light a divo. Barring some occasional oddball, Parsis would gracefully accede to this touching request.

Even in Udvada non-Parsis buy sandalwood and leave it at the Iranshah gate.  In the 1940s when the revered Sardar Dastur Noshirwan Dastur, designated Head Priest of the Deccan, was in charge of Poona’s Sardar Sorabji Patel Agiary in Nana Peth (Gaam ni Agiary), it was widely known that non-Parsis would leave sandalwood outside the fire temple as offerings to the atash padshah. The benign priest, noted for his spiritual aura, would also reportedly receive written requests (which were tied to the branches of a pomegranate tree in the compound) asking him to make special intercessions on their behalf to solve the problems they were facing.

This now occurs in Bombay as well. On Meher mah, Meher roz, as the queue winds its way through the narrow lane leading to the famed Aslaji Agiary, non-Parsis can be seen handing money to Parsi devotees to offer sandalwood to the holy fire on their behalf.

At Bombay’s Bhikha Behram Well, located at the southern end of Cross Maidan, several non-Parsis stand outside the venerated premises to offer their devotion.

Our progressive priests (and their number is gradually increasing) who perform funeral rites for those opting for cremation and navjotes of children of intermarried Parsi mothers, are now being requisitioned to conduct jashans at non-Parsi homes. The fervor with which these jashans are attended by non-Parsis is to be seen to be believed, report the priests. The potency of manthric prayers is appreciated. Non-Parsis suffering from chronic illnesses or inexplicable malevolence request their Parsi friends to recite the Ardibehesht Yasht or the nirang of Afsoon-e-Shah-e-Faridoon, the divine healer. A Maharashtrian lady on dialysis recently surprised this columnist by reciting the central manthra of that nirang, with impeccable pronunciation.

Does this mean that if the faith was to open its doors to non-Parsis there would be an implosion? We think not. Just as Parsis, substantial numbers of whom routinely worship at the temples of other faiths but remain Zoroastrians, non-Parsis who offer devotion at Zoroastrian places of worship would stay with their religion. Many such non-Parsi believers often express a wish to worship in our fire temples and some of them have even done so. This will undoubtedly enrage the orthodox. However, what seems sacrilege today will, over the next two or three decades, become accepted practice. Closed door practices generally crumble under the pressure of external factors.

Parsis should be legitimately proud of the power of their faith being appreciated by others. Every religion is universal and man-made rules of exclusion are bound to fall by the wayside when the time is ripe.

Berjis M. Desai

Voting for self-interest

In State and municipal elections, Parsi voters should exercise their franchise intelligently

As informed citizens, in national elections, we vote, keeping in mind the national interest. However, in State legislative assembly elections and/or municipal elections, we take into account local issues. As a result, often there is an electoral swing even within a short period of time and the outcome of local elections, at times, differs from national elections.

Our Constitution details the powers exercisable by the Union of India, the States and certain shared powers between the two, called the Concurrent List. Hence, electoral considerations will also vary accordingly. In a secular democracy, is it legitimate to consider the interest of one’s community in exercising franchise? At first blush, a liberal democrat may find this repugnant. The right to vote is sacred and cannot be sullied by any considerations of caste, community or religion. That would be against the fabric of secularism.

On the other hand, this proposition cannot be examined in isolation. Our community, being minuscule in numbers, certainly requires extra protection. Our Doongerwadi lands, priceless, are hungrily eyed by property sharks. Our vast properties in the city are the envy of others. With a majority of Parsis being above 60, we have a disproportionately high number of senior citizens. Many of them reside alone and are vulnerable to being victims of violent crime. Our children find it increasingly difficult to compete for a place in educational institutions on a level playing field. We may have proudly rejected reservations earlier. However, the time is ripe to have reservations in medical, engineering and other professional courses. The B. D. Petit Parsee General Hospital operates on a shoestring budget and has acute cash flow issues. Our heritage sites like Udvada and Navsari require protection.

Politicians of all hues routinely claim to be friends of the community. These claims are often hollow. However, there are legislators who have genuinely furthered the interests of our community. For the last decade, they have furthered the community’s interest effectively by renovating Doongerwadi pavilions (did not go down well with the Fringe), cleaning water tanks in our baugs, donating ECG machines to our community medical centres and so on. More significantly, they are endeavoring to get reservation for Parsis in the Maharashtra Legislative Council.

Parsis should vote for a candidate irrespective of their personal political affiliations, by subsuming them in the larger interest of the community.

The crossroads at which the community finds itself demands that we learn to vote in the community’s interest, at least, at the State and local municipal levels. This is routinely resorted to, even in more mature democracies.

-- Berjis M. Desai

Respecting Priests

From sublime heights, our priests have descended to becoming an underprivileged class

The diktats of imams and maulvis are faithfully followed. Hindu priests rule the roost in most parts of India. Not only archbishops and cardinals, even the parish priest is held in affectionate regard. Buddhist monks are considered evolved souls. Bohris regard their head priest as a direct descendant from the Prophet. Jains revere their maharaj sahebs and mahasatijis. Sants rule Sikh hearts and Rabbis rock. Parsi priests, an underprivileged class, are given only cursory respect.

Zoroastrian prayers reverentially refer to the great dasturs of yore who sacrificed all to protect the holy fire and the faith from the marauding Arabs. It was a dastur who secured us refuge in India by convincing a sceptical king in power about our bona fides. Dastur Meherjirana attended Emperor Akbar’s court and significantly contributed to Din e Ilahi, a new secular faith conceived by the Emperor. For believers, even today, Meherjirana’s image which has mystically surfaced on the marble wall opposite the sanctum sanctorum in the Navsari Atash Behram is proof of his high spiritual status. In more recent times, the many miracles of Dastur Jamshed Kookadaru, including alchemically transforming a brick into gold to finance a fire temple, are the stuff of legend. Our priests were giants of men, both spiritual healers and leaders in thought.

From these sublime heights the priests descended into unseemly factional strife, asserting territorial rights to perform ceremonies and indulging in parish grabbing, and even violence. Since one had to be born into a priestly family to become a priest, it became a calling by compulsion and not choice. Even if a non-priestly behdin ("Of the Good Religion") had eminent qualities to be a good priest, he was barred by the accident of birth. A non-merit based hereditary calling often degenerates. Young lads dropped out of school to practise as priests to feed families. Lack of education led to penury, poverty and poor thinking. The priests began to be perceived by the behdin laity as babblers for money.

There was reluctance on the part of behdins to marry daughters of priestly families [Andhyaru ni dikri andharoo lavé (a priest’s daughter brings bad luck)] which resulted in intermarriage amongst priestly families further aggravating the problem. While the priests were in decline, the behdins prospered. A Brahmin elite elicits respect from other economically superior classes provided the former possesses a sharp intellect. Our uneducated priests could not provide leadership in thought.

Nor did their lifestyle inspire reverence. Unlike Roman Catholics, Jains, Buddhists and some Hindu sects, our priests took no vows of celibacy. Unlike the maulvis, they were not teetotallers. Personal sacrifice and a spartan life dedicated to the faith inspire awe and respect. Our priests are indistinguishable from the laity. Many overindulged in worldly pleasures. There was no demonstration of a spiritual life. Neither was there any centralized hierarchy whose commands were sacrosanct.

Instead of being able to galvanize the flock, the priests often became objects of ridicule. Priests dozing during recitation of prayers or taking short cuts by omitting stanzas are the butt of jokes. Of course, there were a few who were highly educated, cultured, erudite, learned and pious. But not enough to compensate for the rest of the mediocre army. Behdins pay paltry fees for religious ceremonies. Poor income makes full-time practice of priesthood difficult, compelling many to take day jobs and become part-time priests, a contradiction in terms.

Crass commercialization displaces devotional fervor. Priests have to appeal to charity for housing and hospitalization. A vicious cycle is continually fed. Various mobed (cleric) amelioration schemes are inadequately funded. A rich and prosperous community with huge charity funds has priests who live in penury.

High priests, appointed by heredity and not merit in most cases, have refused to adapt with the times. Some are unduly orthodox and a few positively repugnant to the youth. The irony is that almost all possess stellar intellect and an ability to impress. However, by toeing an excessively conservative line, they are alienating the youth. We need to lift the priests from this rut and turn them into an army of enthused preachers of the faith. A flock which does not look up to its shepherd is doomed to dissipate.

Permitting behdins and women to become priests, allocating liberal resources to educate and equip young initiates, providing free and highest priority in community housing, medical aid and free life insurance to full-time priests, investing in sprucing up our athornan madressas and making the community conscious of the critical importance of priests, may yet stem the rot. Non-resident Indian Parsis with large hearts are ready to help. Our miserable punchayets are too busy squabbling to take the lead. The high priests themselves have to uplift the priests. Sometimes, ridicule can rapidly turn into reverence.

- Parsiana, September 2014

FROM DADGAH TO DARGAH

Extra-religious worship is endemic.

Ervad Homi, a Navar Maratab (Editor's Note: trained Parsi priest) from Navsari, devotedly serves a Bombay fire temple, as its managing trustee. Homi offers prayers twice a day at his agiyary. He is a diehard conservative who disapproves of inter-faith marriages and crematoria. Homi believes our faith and its prayers to be potent and powerful, capable of bringing about miracles. 

Yet, every year, Homi makes a pilgrimage to Tirupati Lord Balaji and is ecstatic with the twenty second darshan of the Lord. He also visits Shirdi and prostrates himself in abject surrender to Saibaba. Homi wears around his neck an amulet of protection given by a Muslim fakir to his grandfather, which, he asserts, has protected him against many a disaster. From the Brahma temple at Pushkar, the famous Shani temple at Shignapur, the dargah of sufi saint Tajjudin Baba at Nagpur and the most revered Ajmer Sharif shrine, are all on his annual list. A carnivore who loves his daily tipple, he turns vegetarian and teetotaller during Navratri and the Ganpati festival. 

Homi is the rule not the exception. Parsis like Homi do not feel guilty for a moment about extra religious worship. Even mainstream orthodox bodies like WAPIZ seldom raise this issue, knowing fully well that many of their ardent supporters would be offended at any diatribe against extra religious worship. Of course, the readers of Parsi Voice and TZ online, regard such worship as betrayal of our Faith. But then, these days who bothers about the Fringe.

At first blush, extra religious worship alongside an abiding belief in our Faith may be puzzling. It is not so. Even Hindus, while being ardent Krishna devotees, do worship Muslim pirs, particularly in villages and small towns. This is true secularism. Being irreligious or atheist or agnostic is not necessarily secular. Treating all faiths as roads leading to the same goal is secularism. Parsis too have adopted the same approach.

Anecdotally speaking, most orthodox are second or third generation Bombayites and generally hail from the English-speaking upper middle class. On the other hand, majority Parsis like Homi are usually from the Gujarati speaking middle and lower middle classes who are either first generation Bombayites or intimately connected with their roots in Gujarat. This accounts for their close connect with fellow communities and their religious practices.

This extra-religious interaction begins at birth. A Hindu astrologer is consulted to draw up the child’s horoscope. Often the astrologer may suggest a Pooja to remove some malevolent aspect in the life chart. If the child suffers from jaundice, a Muslim healer is contacted to drain the yellowness through water therapy. It is common to worship at the local pir’s dargah and come away with an amulet of protection, worn with the same fervour as the kusti around the waist. (Editor's Note: a thread worn around the waist defines the identity of a Parsi - much like the turban of the Sikh or the thread worn by Brahmins defines their identity) 

Numerous rites, customs, superstitions are observed – pregnant women forbidden to venture out during a lunar eclipse, not touching the jar of homemade pickles during menstruation. The night of kali chaudas is feared, the evening of Dhanteras is spent in praying over new books of account and Divali is celebrated with gusto.

And this is not a new phenomenon. Parsis began to visit Shirdi from 1930 onwards. Iranis and Parsis constitute a majority of the devotees of Avatar Meher Baba (an Irani Zoroastrian who became a Sufi Master). Prominent Parsis regard late Kamubaba of Goregaon as their Guru. On Novena Wednesdays at the Mahim church and at Siddhivinayak on Tuesdays, you will see many Parsi faces. The list is long.

Although most of these Parsis continue to believe in the potent vibratory power of the Avestan prayers, being a dead language, they do not derive solace. Succour is, therefore, sought in the more intelligible. A preacher expounding the Bhagwad Gita with its twin principles of karma and reincarnation provides greater solace to a Parsi who has lost a loved one, than placing roses in a silver vase and listening to the drone of overworked Dasturjis in a smoke-filled agiary during Muktad. Increasing number of inter-faith marriages adds grist to the extra religious mill. Displaying the photo of a non-Zoroastrian saint or Guru alongside the Prophet Zarathushtra on the mantle piece is no longer frowned upon.

The hardcore traditionalist cannot figure out the mindset of his co-religionist, who while being a practising Zoroastrian is, like Homi, seen to be dabbling in alternative avenues. He is willing to ignore the indifferent Parsi but Homi is an eyesore. However, believing in other faiths, while giving primacy to ours, is a part of Homi’s DNA.

This is also a manifestation of a culture being swamped by larger ones. Parsis do not live in ghettos any longer (ironically, those living in the baugs (Editor's Note: the "baug" is a Parsi Colony - typically, a community enclosure) and colonies indulge more in extra religious worship). The magic appeal of miracles has disappeared from our faith. There are no longer personages like the revered Dasturji Kookadaru, who performed many a miracle and healed body and soul. However, such personages do exist in many other religions and thus attract the Parsis.

Homi is misty eyed before Iranshah, Udwada and would gladly sacrifice his life for his Agiyary. He regards himself as a pucca Zarthosti. However, he is equally lost in the religiously ecstatic Quawaals singing outside Ajmer Sharif and equally moved to devotional fervour while attending the Aarti at dawn in the Saibaba temple at Shirdi.

Castigating Homi and his ilk would be counterproductive and even drive some of them away from our Faith. The Fringe should realise this and keep its mouth shut.

- Parsiana, June 2014

TIME TO TEST THE WATERS

There is a fair chance that inter-faith married Parsi women will gain parity with men

An inter-faith married Parsi lady apprehends that someday the priest in the agiary (Editor’s Note: the fire temple) will prevent the entry of her toddler son. Can he, she queries. Yes, we reply, as the law stands today. Instead of waiting for that humiliating experience, why not move the High Court, we ask. Her chances of success are very good indeed. We do believe that Petit vs Jeejeebhoy and Bella vs Saklat (google for them) are no longer good law after the Constitution of India conferred the fundamental right to gender equality (no intelligible differentia exists to prevent putting children of inter-faith married Parsi men and women on par). In addition, India is a signatory to many conventions on human rights which further strengthens the chances of these two old judgments being bypassed.

The recent judgment of Justices Dhananjay Chandrachud and Anoop Mohta of the Bombay High Court in the banned priest’s case makes helpful observations in this regard and indicates the present thinking of our judiciary. Our young lady is still not convinced. What if I fail, she asks. Presently, many inter-faith married Parsi mothers blithely take their children to the fire temple and virtually no one objects. If I fail, all this can stop, they reason. So why invite trouble? This is exactly the reasoning of the matronly ladies of AIMZ (Association of Inter-Married Zoroastrians) who have been unable to make this leap of faith.

But look what happened to Goolrookh Gupta’s case, they contend. While we still believe that Gupta will ultimately succeed, we have always maintained that her individual facts were not ideal to make a test case of (name change to Neha, purported filing of income tax returns as a member of “Hindu Undivided Family” member etc.). None of the so-called legal infirmities in the Gupta case will, however, apply in this case.

Recently, a non-Parsi journalist lady married to a Parsi male, recounted the story of her four-year old daughter, on her first visit to Iranshah, Udwada, loudly shouting ‘Ganpati Bappa Moriya’, in the sanctum sanctorum, to the horror of the not so amused devotees and a stern priest asking her to be taken away. The moral of the story being that culture and way of life is imbibed from the mother, and not so much from the father. (Editor’s Note: it is another matter that many Parsis are devout Ganpati worshippers – read about this phenomenon in other posts on this blog) All the more reason to end this irrational discrimination.

For obvious reasons, we would not like to reveal the precise legal strategy for commencing such a test case.  Suffice it to say that all it requires is a daring Parsi lady. She will receive overwhelming support from the who’s who of the community across the country and several eminent senior counsel would be only too happy to represent her without charging a fee. For all you know, the mainstream orthodox (like the WAPIZ) may not even resist much. Many in the community believe that this discrimination must end.

Will the AIMZ take a lead, as it logically ought to? We think not. Hence, we require a couple of Parsi ladies, married under the Special Marriage Act (registered marriage), preferably to Hindus, and born of both Parsi Zoroastrian parents. This is only to ensure that some irrelevant objections do not deflect from the main objective.

Some candidates will emerge to bell the donkey. The faster this happens, the better. It is ludicrous to put a percentage prospect of success on the outcome of litigation in India, but we shall make bold to assert a 80% chance.

Those who anticipate that this would open the floodgates are mistaken. The number of such children (born of Parsi mothers and non-Parsi fathers, the latter seeking entry of their children into our faith) will not be more than 300. Out of these, hardly 10% are likely to avail of Parsi charities, which anyway are running out of beneficiaries. No sensible liberal is advocating outright conversion, which would be politically disastrous and destroy our unique ethnic identity. However, justice and fair play demand that both sexes must be treated equally. Someone from the fringe is bound to quip that if you are so keen to end discrimination, why don’t you also exclude children of inter-married Parsi males? If the fringe elements wish to accelerate our already dramatic demographic decline even further, then what is one to say? There may be a dearth of Parsis, but not of idiots.

- Parsiana, June 2014

No Criticism Please, We are Parsis

Younger readers may not recall an English theatre production called, No sex please, we are British.  Our chillingly declining numbers are a testimony to our empathy with the Brits. Though some macho Parsis may contend that we are firing alright, but mostly blanks. While those on the Fringe (Editor's Note: the "Lunatic Fringe", is an expression one would read here often) maintain that the second coming of the Lord shall reverse demographic trends (‘Gayomard and a Soshyosh aideryad bad’, our prayers recite), their estranged brethren in the mainstream accuse this publication of manipulating statistics (and exposing damned lies).

A decade ago, the above para would have elicited a wry smile. Today it evokes anger and indignation (though not of the righteous kind). The-facts-are-incorrect-denial mode. Even-if-they-are-correct-why-publish-it-ostrich approach. You-are-an-enemy-of-the-community Taliban attitude. "Even if you are only the messenger, we shall shoot you, for bringing bad news. Leave us alone in our cocoon of disbelief. Voltaire may have said that I disagree with you and I shall defend to my death your right to disagree with me. Voltaire be damned, unity of the community is the need of the hour and your dissent is pernicious and we shall not tolerate it. We may have mingled like sugar in milk, as promised to our royal shelter giver, but now like lactose intolerance, we are allergic to criticism."

In fairness to the orthodox, this intolerance is not limited to them. It pervades across the spectrum of thought. Is this then the extreme prickliness of those feeling doomed or is it a new-found feeling of bristling aggression. When one is aware of the weaknesses in his case, he does not want any public expose of such weaknesses. He goes the extra mile, therefore, to stifle any criticism. Respect for the other viewpoint is lost, the moment you doubt bona fides. These days, there is too much doubting of bona fides. It is quickly presumed that anyone in community service must be having a personal agenda. It is true that many do. However, you cannot paint with the same brush, those few who don't.

The biggest problem facing the community today is not decimating demographics but cold indifference. The very fact that you are reading this shows that you do have some interest in the community.  Unfortunately, you are in a minority. Most Parsis have a soft corner for the community but nothing more. Only a micro minority is concerned with what happens to the Parsis. 

Overwhelming numbers believe that the trustees of our charities are a bunch of clowns viciously fighting each other. The beneficiaries greet a trustee with a polite smile only so as not to affront him. Privately what the community thinks about our trustees is unprintable. The much abused phrase Parsipanu is not that annual visit to the Agiyary or watching a putrid Parsi comedy or gorging at the Ripon Club on Wednesday afternoons. Even the intelligent spare little thought about the issues threatening the very existence of the community. This has led to the affairs of the community being handled by, believe it or not, a dozen odd Parsis. 

This concentration of power amongst this dozen (we shall eschew the adjective), needless to state, is dangerous. The vicious hatred amongst them is very un-Parsi. Like battle scarred gladiators, they lick 
their bruised egos and yearn to see their opponents humiliated. These war games have now spilled over from the media into the Courts. Many of these worthies are street fighters who love a bloody brawl, for the sake of it, as their non-community careers are uniformly boring and pedestrian. They and their followers, of liberal or orthodox hue, sincerely believe that they are the saviours of the community. The indifference of the community feeds their delusions of grandeur. And why blame the tadpole for thinking that he is the master of the cesspool?

As a result, there is no dispassionate expert thinking on how to tackle issues. The cesspool is so turpid that none wants to step into it. Painstaking sociological research is dismissed as biased. Suggestions to reform charities are seen as motivated. None wants to be shown a mirror. They do not want a confirmation of the ugliness.

A few years ago, only those, whom we affectionately like to call fruitcakes, reacted angrily to criticism. Now, all do. When few can even bear to be told the truth, disaster is not far away. Our much-touted sense of humour was founded on the fundamental premise of having the ability to laugh at ourselves. We have so terribly lost that ability, in the process of protecting our puny egos. 

The community is already mentally extinct.

- first published in the Parsiana, April 2014

Dadar Parsis' unique sub-culture dissipating

Pesi was hugely irritated with the untimely ringing of bells in St. Joseph’s Church, on the outskirts of the Dadar Parsi Colony (DPC). His complaints to the Archbishop of Bombay went unheeded. Pesi then wrote to His Holiness, the Pope himself, who wrote a personal reply to an elated Pesi. The bells rang less and the famous railing of DPC’s Five Gardens instantly christened him Pesi Pope. The truth of this implausible story will be verified by almost all senior citizens of DPC.

The railing, in its heydays, was imposing, cruel, funny and unsparing. The rally driver causing his terrified passengers to involuntarily relieve themselves in the Fiat, when being driven to Lonavala after midnight in an hour and quarter (remember there was no Expressway then) was called ‘Rocket’. The kind hearted, podgy manager of the Central Bank of India, (Khodadad Circle branch) was called ‘Bun pao’. A Mae West look alike was ‘Nagoo Doll’. There was a ‘Bafaat’ and a ‘Mike’ and a ‘Chocolate’. Almost none escaped the mandatory rechristening a la Anthony Burgess’ dystopian novel – A Clockwork Orange. There were three or four railings but ‘Lakhan ni railing’ was the meeting point for authentic ‘Aandas’ (an untranslatable expression for crude, unsophisticated louts and loutees) every evening. Nothing was sacrosanct and no reputation remained unscathed. Every eccentricity was celebrated and every idiosyncrasy pilloried.

Expletives were as ubiquitous as pigeons. Even inanimate objects like the daily newspaper, a bottle of milk or a cricket bat were routinely accused of having illicit relationship with their close female relatives. The Dadar Parsi was tough, macho and not exactly sophisticated. And they all were and are obsessively fond of their bikes and their Colony.

The Colony, of course, being a collection of unconnected 100 odd plots, most with a ground and three storeyed building, having a single commonality – the Parsis-only covenant. This covenant was legally challenged in a bitterly fought litigation in the Bombay City Civil Court many decades ago. The Parsi Central Association (PCA) succeeded in upholding the covenant (thanks to the brilliance of noted lawyer, Nadir Modi, who appeared gratis and a somewhat sympathetic Judge Rego). DPC also has several non-covenanted plots, mostly of Parsi ownership.

Much against our liberal instincts, we must confess that this covenant has helped in preserving the quaint DPC sub-culture, notwithstanding that the Parsi-only buildings are now sandwiched between cosmopolitan apartments, after most have been mounted upon by additional floors on stilts.

As is inevitable, in the covenanted buildings, Parsis have married non-Parsis and we understand that there are around 20 flats having non-Parsi spouses and children. What is jarring, is, that the PCA has recently begun to flex its muscle against Parsi women introducing their non-Parsi husbands and children, into these covenanted flats. PCA’s policies are counter productive and may well backfire, if one of these aggrieved ladies challenges once again the validity of the covenant, in the changed circumstances. The hotheads in PCA should be counselled by saner elements, like the venerable Mithoo Jesia, not to rake up an unnecessary controversy.

Like all Parsi institutions, the once bristling and strident DPC is fast mellowing. When we came to reside in one of the buildings (non-covenanted, of course), two decades ago, the warm and popular Yezdi Daruwalla (who soon died young and much mourned) informed us that DPC was a very secure place (‘before you can scream ‘chor, chor’, men with sticks will rush out of their houses’). All that has disappeared. Most have a look of resignation around them. Of course, DPC does come alive during the Jamshedi Navroze spring festival, and if you are keen to hear authentic, original Parsi, and almost lyrical, abuse, you can still visit the Dadar Parsi Gymkhana (a worthy competitor to the Dadar Parsis in this field were some Navsari mobeds we encountered during the Navar ceremony).

Are the Dadar Parsis largely orthodox? Maybe, though not in the WAPIZ sense of the term. More inclined to preserve Parsi properties in Parsi hands and more comfortable to relax and share laughter with fellow Parsis, preferably also from the DPC.

While adventurers abound, with the passing away of old hands like Rustom Tirandaz, DPC now lacks a charismatic personality to lend and electrify its 8000 inhabitants (down from a peak of 13,000) and to preserve gracefully the unique heritage of this village like oasis with its gorgeous trees (all numbered) and its nostalgic lanes.

Unlike a Parsi Baug, DPC, being a collection of scattered buildings, is fast losing its Parsi character. The numbers are eroding, the people are ageing. The bikes don’t backfire at midnight. ‘Baffat’ has made his last faux pas. ‘Mike’ has been silenced. Nagoo Doll does not look like Mae West anymore, or vice-versa. Rocket does not drive now. The railings are full of people, but not Parsis. The church bells ring again, more than they ought to, but there is no Pesi to write to the Pope.

Non-Zoroastrian Parsis; and Non-Parsi Zoroastrians

Many believe erroneously that all Parsis are Zoroastrians, and vice-versa. The nearly three lakh practising Zoroastrians in countries around the Caspian Sea are not Parsis. And quite a few Parsis are not Zoroastrians, like late Rajiv and Sanjay Gandhi. Although born of a Parsi father, neither was "Navjote-ed" and neither believed in the one Lord Ahuramazda and his prophet, Zarathushtra. After his assassination, when Rajiv Gandhi was accorded national honour, his Parsi relatives did place a Sudreh Kusti on the funeral cortege.

Despite there being no legal or ecclesiastical authority for the proposition, without a Navjote, a Parsi is not regarded as a Zoroastrian. In the absence of any records or system of certification, a simple assertion by a Parsi that he has been Navjote-ed will suffice. Yet, some do not like to take chances. Ness Wadia in his eighties and Nusli Wadia in his fifties were Navjote-ed, a little belatedly, through the orthodox Dasturji (priest) Firoze Kotwal, who had not so long ago termed Parsis marrying inter-faith as being guilty of adultery. Of course, for the learned priest, goose and gander don’t require the same sauce.

It is possible that you may have had a Navjote ceremony and yet not regarded as Zoroastrian. This can happen in two situations. If you were 'Navjote-ed' but your father is not a Parsi (there are priests now who will gladly conduct your Navjote ceremony, even if both your parents are not Parsis) and, secondly, if you convert to another faith, openly or otherwise. 

We know of two unrelated Parsi ladies, both born of blue blooded Parsi parents and married to a Parsi, and though not baptised, were practising Christians (one of them regularly played the piano during Sunday Mass). When they were widowed, they had to sit outside the Doongerwadi Bungli, like any other non-Parsi.

For our younger readers, it is best perhaps to reiterate the legal position. Parsi is a race, Zoroastrianism is a religion. To enter most fire temples and Towers of Silence and to be regarded as beneficiaries of almost all Parsi charities, you have to be both – a Parsi and a Zoroastrian. There are some rare trust deeds where the beneficiary need only be a Zoroastrian (mostly out of inadvertence, not design). To be regarded as a Parsi, at least your father must be a Parsi.

A micro-minority, though born a Parsi, never get to be a Zoroastrian. The parents may be atheist, agnostic or believe that no religion should be thrust upon a child, and hence, ignore Navjote. Then of course, there are those who begin life as Parsi Zoros but convert at the time of marriage to the faith of their husband (the law requires exacting evidence to establish such conversion – a name change is not enough but a marriage ceremony of another faith, usually, is). Again some migrate to another faith out of a conscious choice. We knew of a Parsi solicitor (now deceased) who did Namaz in his office, five times a day, while his irate clients fretted in his Pickwickian office. Or like the born again Christian Parsis mentioned above. 

Confuse not though those who believe in other faiths but also continue to be practising Zoroastrians. The orthodox would like to disbelieve but a huge number of Parsi Zoroastrians in India fall into this category – perhaps even as much as one-third.

When Sanjay Gandhi suddenly perished in an air crash, his widow, Maneka, did consult lawyers to ascertain which law of intestate succession (those dying without a will) would apply – the Hindu Succession Act or the Indian Succession Act provisions applicable to Parsi intestates. We do now know the outcome but the correct law would have been the Parsi law, even if Sanjay was not a Zoroastrian, he was certainly a Parsi, being born of a Parsi father. You can give up your religion but not your race.

If you think the above is semantics or mere technicalities, you are wrong. It is intrinsically connected to the future of our Faith. The day we decide that race is immaterial, and only bona fide belief in the faith matters, a revolution will take place. Non-Parsi Zoroastrians shall be officially admitted to the faith (perhaps, the aspiring Russian mobed (a cleric), who was roughed up by orthodox hooligans at Sanjan, will return, to be initiated as a Navar / Martab). 

This will provide an unprecedented impetus to millions of nascent Zoroastrians to join the Faith and numbers will swell for this modern-sounding religion with its emphasis on ethics, environment and equality. A micro-minority of the followers of the Zoroastrian faith will then be Parsis, mingling with their non-Parsi brethren, in a vibrant melting pot.

- Parsiana, August 21, 2014